The holidays hit, and with them came the tantrums. These are thermonuclear tantrums that can last as long as an hour. I had been hoping that it was just the holiday disruption, but they are still here. I’m still holding out hope that it might be in part due to my sub-par parenting skills during the first trimester of pregnancy and things will improve once I hit the second trimester and no longer feel like I have mono and a stomach flu at the same time. That might be too much to hope for.
The tantrums are illogical, unpredictable, and can be set off by the least little thing. The other day she had one because I wouldn’t make it snow. Yes, apparently the deplorable lack of snow in greater Boston this winter is all my fault (you’re welcome). Logic is no help, I can’t help by try to sell her on the idea that Mommy can’t just make it snow outside whenever she wants. The tantrums are coming frequently enough that my frustration has been building, and there are times when I find the idea of shutting her in a closet to scream tempting, but I know that would be wrong so I don’t. Instead, after briefly trying to reason with her I turn my attention to Duncan, hoping that eventually she’ll get the idea that quiet children get attention from Mommy and screaming won’t her anything, much less a spontaneous snow storm. The tantrums do wear themselves out, and when she is calm again I tell her that I love her and give her attention and whatever she really needs. Some tantrums have been fizzling lately before they hit full force. This morning she started throwing one because she declared she wanted to help me take a shower as I was drying off and wasn’t happy that I would not get back in the shower. I was bracing for the worst, but after a few minutes of resolutely going about my morning routine the tantrum fizzled. I would like to think the approach is working, but it is still very frustrating. No doubt it’s equally frustrating for her. If only I weren’t so damn lazy about using my weather control abilities.
In the interest of fairness I should also mention that when Margaret isn’t vociferously protesting my failure to produce snow on demand she is an absolute delight to be with. We call have long conversations on the phone to her new kitchen, we make play-doh cakes, and she lets me do her hair. She’s good at sharing, is getting to be pretty good about putting her toys away, and always wants to be helpful. She’s everything I could have hoped for in a little girl and so much more. I guess three and a half is just a tough age.